Round and Round the Garden
by Alive Through Writing
Summary: Why is it Sherlock can forget about the solar system, but knows the kids poem 'Round and Round the Garden Like a Teddy Bear? Will be a bit sad, minor character death, eventually SH/OC romance, and refers to previous SH/ same OC relationship. Part One of ?
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my oc's , everything else is all Doyle's/Gatiss'/Moffat's..._

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

"Sherlock", John starts tentatively, "I've been thinking"

"What?" Sherlock replies, not looking away from the laptop screen in front of him.

"You know how last week we were talking about the solar system…"

"Oh not this again, we've been through this already" Sherlock complains, rolling his eyes.

"It's not that, well, it is, it's just, you said you only remember what you need to… so, how did you know the poem 'round and round the garden'? It's just, that's not exactly ground breaking, is it? It's a kids song" John asks slowly, watching for a reaction.

Sherlock stops suddenly, the slightest flinch in his neck, before turning to John, looking as though he is trying to determine some sinister reason for John's sudden interest in this. "No reason" he replies, closing the laptop, walking towards the door and picking up his coat and scarf. "Just a piece of useless information I seem to have forgotten to delete" and with that he walks down the stairs and out of the apartment.

John shakes his head, _alright, so you don't want to talk about it, fine. But there is definitely more to this_, he thinks to himself as he sits down and takes a sip of his now cold tea.

* * *

_A/N: Ok, so this is just the prologue, I'm not making any promises as to when a new chapter will be up, but if you want more, reviews are the only way I'll find out!_

_The rest of this story is based after season two (not taking into account season three, just going with the theory eventually after all the Moriarty stuff is over, John and Sherlock go back to every day life)._

_Hope you enjoy, and yes, I realize this author's note is becoming almost as long as the chapter itself, the real chapters will be longer (around ten times as long as this), only the prologue is this short._

_~Alive Through Writing~_


	2. Chapter 1: Mycroft Calls

_Disclaimer: I only own the ocs and the storyline, everything else is Doyle's, Gatiss' and/or Moffat's._

_Mycroft's Calls._

* * *

The phone vibrated violently on the small wooden coffee table, moving slightly towards the glistening warm fire whilst making the heinous sound, despite being on silent.

"Are you going to pick that up?" John asks annoyed from his armchair where he sits reading the paper.

"It's Mycroft, probably some mundane case of a missing worker or such" Sherlock replies continuing to play the violin.

"All the same, he has rung over twenty times within the past hour, seems important"

"Twenty-eight" Sherlock corrects, turning his back on his friend in favour of the view out the window.

"I'll take that as a no" John shakes his head.

* * *

"He's not picking up" Mycroft mutters wearily as he leans against the corridor.

"Of course not" the brunette sighs looking down at her feet, "When has he ever made anything easy for either of us? I'll have to see him, I suppose. It's a pity..."

The brunette woman pushes herself off the wall and walks back into the private hospital room to where a young girl lay on the bed, her brunette curls contrasting against the clinically white surrounds, even her pale face seemed to fade into the bleak tones.

"He's not coming, is he?" a small voice speaks, lips barely moving.

"No, sweetie, he's not, I'm sorry" the woman replies with a soft smile as she takes the girls hand.

"That's ok, mum, I'm sure he's busy chasing bad guys down and saving people" the girl says, opening her eyes slowly to look at her mother, her eyes showing a strength that was obviously lacking in her body.

"Definitely" the mother nods emphatically.

"Will you do something for me?" the young girl asks weakly.

"Anything" the mother assures.

"And you too?" the girl looks to Mycroft.

"Of course, Gracie" Mycroft answers, moving toward the bed from his spot near the door.

* * *

_A/N: Hi, so I actually updated pretty quickly, although it's another short chapter... I just didn't have anything else I wanted to add, so sorry about the length. I have a feeling that there might be a few short chapters at the beginning, but when we get into it it'll be longer, I promise!_

_I hope you're enjoying it, but you know the only way I'll know if you love or hate it is through those dreaded reviews!_

_Cheers,_

_~Alive Through Writing~_


	3. Chapter 2: Visits From The Past

_Disclaimer: it's all owned by far richer people than me, namely Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and of course Arthur Conan-Doyle, I own nothing... except some chocolate I have in the pantry._

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_Visits From The Past_

With a sigh of relief John Watson dumps the heavy bags of shopping on to the kitchen table, rubbing at a knot in his neck he starts putting the groceries away.

"John Watson" an emotionless voice states from the doorway.

"Hell!" John shouts as he hits his head on the roof of the refrigerator in shock. Turning to the woman he instantly calms. Ash brown hair tied into a soft bun, black eyeliner and mascara enlarging her cerulean eyes but not excessively, pale ivory skin, no lipstick. She wears a black pencil skirt, fitted blue satin long-sleeved blouse and black matching suit jacket paired with plain black heels; she must be here on business. Obviously she was a high up business woman. But there was something about her. She wore no smile, her stance was cold, but there was something about her that made John calm.

"My apologies," the woman states blandly, yet her eyes showed she meant it. "My name is Elle, I was hoping to speak with Sherlock Holmes, but he appears to be out."

"Um, yes, he is. Is this about a case? I'm sorry, but how did you get in? Did Mrs Hudson bring you up here?" John asks confused.

"Yes, she did. Do you know when he'll be back?" Elle asks impassively.

"That would be now" Sherlock's deep voice states with a slightly annoyed tone behind here, "What are you doing here, Elle?"

Elle's professional calmness fades away quickly to be replaced with a look of desperation, but she doesn't reply, not look at him, she merely lowers her head slightly taking in a deep breath before Sherlock continues on.

"MI6 out of its depths again? And here I was thinking things were supposed to be under control in the world of espionage" Sherlock smirks as Elle raises her head, a frown on her face.

"Sorry," John pipes up, "did you just say MI6?"

"Of course," Sherlock replies carelessly, his eyes not wandering from the back of Elle's head, "must be why Mycroft was trying to call so desperately last night"

"Or perhaps," Elle finally turns to look at Sherlock, "it's a _personal_ matter that ought to be discussed with some tea"

Sherlock's haughty stance drops immediately, one look at her face and he knew this was no cheery social call, something was wrong, and it must be big for her to visit in person. He looks straight into her eyes, trying to dissect the reason for her unusual demeanor, but sees nothing. Not the usual hidden grin, nor her usual look of serenity or happiness he always saw when he looked at her.

"John," Sherlock's voice breaks slightly giving away his sudden desperateness to learn what was wrong, "I believe it would be best if you went out for a while, Elle and I need to talk"

Elle shakes her head, "That's not necessary, Dr Watson, you're welcome to stay. I'll make some tea"

Sherlock stops her as she moves towards the cupboards with a hand on her arm.

"Elle, sit down, I'll make the tea"

John's head turned towards Sherlock so fast he could feel it crack, had Sherlock just offered to make tea for someone? Who is this woman, and how does she know Sherlock?

Elle gives a small laugh, "thank you, but I'd rather not be poisoned, intentionally or unintentionally. When was the last time you made someone tea anyway?"

"I'll do it," John starts, he was too intrigued by who this woman might be, he wanted to be in her good books, that way he might learn more.

"Thank you, Doctor" Elle smiles slightly at him.

"Please, call me John" John smiles.

Sherlock leads Elle into the lounge and towards the couch as he sits in his arm-chair, "So," he starts slowly, "are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"In a minute," Elle replies, "when there's tea"

"Ah yes, tea, your universal remedy to everything" Sherlock smirks.

"Not everything," Elle sighs quietly, looking at her hands sitting in her lap.

The two meld into an uncomfortable silence, Elle not looking up from her hands, Sherlock continuing to try to decifer what was the exact cause of her visit, until John walks in, two cups of tea in hand.

"Sorry, I didn't add any milk or sugar," John starts as he hands Elle the plain cup of tea, "I wasn't sure how you take it, if you want some I can-"

"No, no, that's perfect," Elle smiles, causing Sherlock to raise an eyebrow at the guest. "You wouldn't be able to give us just a few minutes, would you, John? This shouldn't take more than 10 minutes, and I think Sherlock will want you here when I leave"

"Oh, um, of course," John looks between the two, "I'll, uh, I'll be upstairs if you need me" and with that, he quickly rushes up the stairs.

Elle waits until she hears the bedroom door shut before looking to Sherlock again, "I tried to contact you"

"Through Mycroft," Sherlock finishes, "Not your smartest move, you know how we feel about one another"

"Yes, well, I tried on mine, but, new number, you didn't pick up, I had to do the next logical thing, and with Mycroft being there..."

"Elle, what has happened? This is getting ridiculous" Sherlock sighs, but not annoyed.

"It's about Grace" Elle starts, looking away from him again.

"Oh?" Sherlock pushes.

"Oh god, Sherlock, this wasn't meant to happen" Elle starts to break, tears starting to fall from her eyes. Sherlock places his half full cup of tea on the coffee table slowly and carefully, eyes still on the woman. She had only cried in front of him twice before, and never lightly.

"Elle, what happened to Grace?" Sherlock asks softly.

"There- there was an accident, Grace was out with Lucinda, the nanny, and she somehow got away from her and ran onto the road... a drunk driver..." by now Elle was barely able to speak, she was crying so hard she had to gasp for breaths every so often.

"Elle, Grace, is she... is she alright?" Sherlock asks, his face paler than usual. He's no longer looking at Elle, his eyes are unfocused.

Elle doesn't reply merely shaking her head.

"Is she dead?" Sherlock's voice comes out barely over a whisper.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock!" Elle cries. "She lost too much blood, they managed to stabilize her long enough so that I could say goodbye, and I wanted you to be able to as well, if only I hadn't changed phones, then I could have called you directly, maybe then..."

Numbly, Sherlock rises from his seat and moves towards the kitchen. He takes a bottle of wine off the shelf looks towards the glasses John had washed a few days previously then shrugs, decided they would only be wasted, opens the bottle and takes it back towards Elle. He collapses into the couch next to her, taking a mouthful before passing the bottle to her.

She mimics his actions briefly before putting the bottle down on her other side.

"There is something else," Elle starts, composing herself slightly as she moves to get something out of her satchel bag, "Gracie asked me to give you this, I haven't looked inside, she wanted you to have it" she passes him a wooden box.

Taking in a deep breath, Elle stands, composes herself and picks up her satchel bag from the couch. "I should get going, Mycroft and I are meeting with the funeral director in an hour. We have to keep it small, but if you want to bring your doctor friend, that's fine. I'll let you know the final details once we've got them covered, and if there's anything you want done, just let me know, I'm sure Mycroft can give you my number. I won't ask for anything else, but you should really be there, it would mean the world to her" Elle bends over and kisses him gently on the cheek before turning and walking out of the apartment.

A few minutes later John walks back in, "I heard the door, is everything alright? Who was that?" John asks, but Sherlock doesn't reply, he's staring at the brightly covered box with mismatched letters spelling 'To my daddy'.

* * *

_A/N: I know, you probably guessed the connection but oh well, too bad! And look, finally a semi-decent sized chapter! It only took a week to write!_

_I hope this isn't too OOC, but at the same time, I know it is for Sherlock, but I'm thinking of writing a prequel to this at some point so that will explain his relationship with both Grace and Elle a bit better._

_Hope you're enjoying it!_


	4. Chapter 3: Living Isn't Easy

_Disclaimer: I only own the ocs and the storyline, everything else is Doyle's, Gatiss' and/or Moffat's._

_Living Isn't Easy._

* * *

It was a miserable day, the rain was more severe than usual as it splattered against the window pane and the normal grey clouds that hovered over London were dark and foreboding. _Elle would think it fitting_, Sherlock thinks to himself as he struggles with his charcoal tie, only a shade lighter than his black shirt and suit.

A diffident knock rouses Sherlock from his thoughts. John squeezes his head through the doorway. He's wearing a customary black suit matched with a sky blue shirt and black tie.

"Ready to go?" John asks timidly. Sherlock nods in response, picking up his suit jacket and black coat from his bed and sweeping out the room.

It had been a week since Elle had visited with the news, and since then Sherlock had not said a word to anyone, although he had started to drink a copious amount of tea and eating a decent amount of food, at least decent in comparison to how little he usually ate. However, when it reached the third day of Sherlock being off in his own mind, John was worried for his friend, this not being helped by Mrs Hudson's pestering as to whether something bad had happened as she hadn't seen Elle in years.

Finally John snapped. Some woman who apparently knew both Mrs Hudson and Sherlock had caused a dramatic change in the consulting detective and he wanted to know why. So he did the only logical thing he could think of, he called Mycroft.

* * *

_The phone rang ominously as John held it tightly to his ear, waiting until suddenly "I wondered if you would call, John" the drained voice of Mycroft answered._

_"So you know what ever has happened" John confirmed._

_"Indeed," Mycroft answers slowly, "however, it's not really my place to tell you everything..."_

_"Not your place?" John interupts, "Since when have you cared if something is or isn't your business? You just make it your business!"_

_"This is different," Mycroft sighs, "this is private family business. I shall give you a brief overview, but now is not the time for questions, nor am I the person to give you answers." And so he began, Mycroft gave John the basic outline. Elle and Sherlock had once been a couple, when she got pregnant they worried it wasn't the right environment to raise a child in, however they agreed that together they would try. However when the child, Grace, was two, Sherlock had a long period of no cases and restarted his experiments. One night when Elle arrived back home from work she found Grace playing with one particularly gross and dangerous experiment, Elle decided it was time that she and Grace move on, in order to give her a more stable upbringing, and the two moved in to Mycroft's grandiose home._

* * *

It was then that Mycroft had told John how Grace had died and asked him to attend the funeral, in order to keep an eye on Sherlock, which was the reason John was now walking down the stairs with Sherlock to meet a hysterical Mrs Hudson at the door.

Mrs Hudson wears a black dress with large collars and detailed arms with a large plum overcoat hanging over her arm,her quiet whimpering the only sound as the trio entered the sleek black government car Mycroft had sent to pick them up.

It wasn't long until the car was out of London, and traveling south towards Sevenoaks. The front yards grew as did the size of the houses and their quality. The car slows down and turns into one of the large properties. The palladian house was two-stories high with a small rounded hedge around it, but what John found most intriguing was the sight of one man standing near the door in a smart black suit.

The car stops and the trio get out as Lestrade walks towards them, there was a weakness in his walk that showed he was emotionally and physically exhausted.

"Sherlock," Lestrade starts slowly, "your mother is in the drawing room, she wants to see you. Ellie wanted me to warn you, and suggest you have a scotch before you meet her. I have to say, I agree with her, you're going to need it, Catherine's in a fit, and it's only making things worse for Ellie"

Sherlock nods and starts off into the house, followed by John before Lestrade stops him. "Trust me, it's best that they talk alone. How about we all go inside?"

"So, how do you know Elle?" John asks as he follows Lestrade into the house.

"Didn't Mycroft tell you?" Lestrade asks, "Figures, it's all a bit hush hush with Elle's job and what not. Elle, or Selena if you want to have her kill you, is my baby sister. She met Mycroft through work and met Sherlock through him. She was the one to suggest he start consulting with us at Scotland Yard."

They entered the main lounge where Elle and Mycroft stand next to a blazing fire. Elle has her hair pulled into a loose bun with curls falling out gracefully at the back of her hair. She wears a plan black dress that reaches her ankles, fitted with a thin golden belt and black peek toe high heels. Her make up was more refined than the first time John had seen her. Perfectly shaded blush faded into her cheeks showing a natural looking glow, mascara, a tiny bit of eye-liner and a peach eye shadow. Next to her, Mycroft stood in his usual pinstriped black suit, matched with white shirt and black tie. In between them sat a picture in a large frame of Elle with a young child, no older than 3, playing at a park. The picture was so colourful it seemed to steal all the joy from the room and hold it carefully within the smile pairs paused faces.

Looking around the room, John saw more pictures of the girl, a girl who could only have been Grace. On the mantle, one lone picture was on display. In this image, Grace was being held lovingly by Elle. Grace looked to be only a few months old and she was extending her arms eagerly toward a young man standing close. It took John a minute to realise that it was Sherlock, perhaps in his mid-twenties. He looked so happy seeing Grace, reaching out to embrace the child. Sherlock was relaxed, blissful even. Oh, Sherlock still smiled but it was different these days - there was determination behind it.  
John returned his gaze to Elle, studying her features frozen in a moment of time so long ago. She, too, looked to be in her mid-twenties and, though she retained that rare sincerity in her eyes, to think of her now, one could easily believe she had never experienced joy in her life.

* * *

"Sherlock Holmes, where have you been?" the shrill voice of Catherine Holmes bawls from her seat in the middle of the small room. Mrs Holmes was a woman who, despite her short stature and weak body, demanded respect. Her sharp eyes glared at her youngest child as he slowly walked towards her, placing a kiss tentatively on her cheek before sitting in the arm chair opposite her. "I don't like to repeat myself, Sherlock"

"As hard as it may be for you to realise, mother, I have been attempting to reconcile with the fact that my only child is no longer alive" Sherlock replies not looking at her, his voice rough, it breaks slightly mid sentence.

"I realise this is hard on you, but you do realise it's hard on Elle as well, don't you?" Catherine softens slightly, it was rare that either of her sons ever showed genuine emotion, but when they did she would always be there for them, she just had to get to the true feelings in the first place.

"She's fine," Sherlock replies looking up at his mother, "Mycroft and Lestrade have been looking after her"

"And you really think that will make her alright?" Catherine asks speculatively. "Really, Sherlock, I expected more from you. Tell me, has this army doctor friend of yours caused you to be alright with what has happened?"

"It's not the same" Sherlock shakes his head, "Elle is able to express emotions far easier than I, she's more open about her feelings"

"Ha!" Catherine laughs, "With you, perhaps. The amount of times I have had Mycroft complain that the girl won't talk to either himself or Greg is boundless! Since she visited you she only leaves Grace's room for meals and to bathe herself. You two really should talk, perhaps Elle could stay with you for a while, goodness knows being in this house isn't helping her"

"Mother, if she wanted to get away, she would. Staying with me would not help her in the slightest"

"Really, Sherlock, you need to see what is right in front of you. Your wife needs you, and you need her" Catherine sighs, standing slowly and making her way out of the room.

* * *

_A/N: So, sorry about the wait! But I'm literally writing up the next chapter right now, so I'll upload that in the next day or so._

_If you thought that one paragraph didn't really fit, I had some problems trying to choose the right word, so my friend asked if he could read the paragraph to help and he ended up editing the entire paragraph._

_Hope you enjoyed it!_

_Also, there's a mix up on 8tracks for Elle if you're interested, it doesn't fit with this chapter, it's just a bit of an explanation on her. It can be found here /oswinoswald/elle-s-soundtrack-round-and-round-the -garden_

_~Alive Through Writing~_


	5. Chapter 4: Blue Lips

The entertainment room had been rearranged, Sherlock noted as he stood at the doorway. The usual couch and two armchairs had been replaced by nine black cushioned chairs, five in front, four behind, which were facing the large television, a black and white picture of Grace smiling and the words 'Grace Amelia Holmes' on the screen. Sherlock's mother was sitting at the end of the front row, with Mycroft beside her. John and Mrs Hudson stood in a corner speaking with a blonde woman Sherlock didn't know, but he assumed she was Lucinda, Grace's nanny. Lestrade was talking with a large man wearing black, who he guessed to be the funeral director, near the screen.

Sherlock frowns to himself, everyone was there, everyone but Elle. He was about to leave the room to look for her when he felt the soft, unmistakable pressure of her hand taking his. He sighs, looking down at their conjoined hands before looking at her emotionless face. Not saying a word, she lead him towards the front row of seats, sitting him in the middle, between Mycroft and herself.

Moments later, Lestrade sat on her other side as Lucinda, John and Mrs Hudson sat down, only the funeral director remaining standing. Elle gives Sherlock's hand a small squeeze, leaving her hand in his, before nodding to the funeral director to begin.

"We're here today to mark the tragic lose of a child. While I myself did not know Grace Holmes, I have been informed by her family that she was a remarkable six year old. Resilient caring and intelligent, she will be missed greatly. I have been asked to keep this short, Grace wished that her funeral would be small and short, a celebration more than anything else. As such, we will now have a slide show of pictures of Grace, then there will be tea served in the lounge"

The overweight man sat down in the back row as the screen started to play pictures of Grace along with music. Most of the pictures where old, a collection of memories of her with both Elle and Sherlock in their old flat that barely had enough space for the trio. They moved on to the house they were now in, and with the lose of Sherlock from the photos, so left the sparkle in Elle's eyes. There were a few photos of Grace with her Lestrade, some with her grandmother, Christine, and two with Mycroft and then it was over.

As soon as the slideshow finished, Elle dropped Sherlock's hand and calmly walked out to the lounge, Sherlock following quickly after her.

"Are you..." Sherlock stumbles on his words, sentiment wasn't easy for him, no matter who it was directed towards. While he gathers his words he sees Elle swinging back a glass of whiskey before moving to make tea. "What I mean is..."

"Don't you dare ask if I'm alright, Sherlock" Elle interrupts, her back facing him. "She wanted her ashes scattered into the ocean. I was thinking we could go to Cornwall, where we had that picnic for her second birthday, that is, if you want to come"

"When?" Sherlock asks watching her move around quickly in an attempt to distract herself.

"Next week sometime? I'm not quite ready yet to..." Elle stops herself. "What about Thursday? You always said Thursdays were the most boring days for cases"

"Of course. Shall I meet you here?" Sherlock asks slowly.

"No, I'll come to your place. She is, was our daughter, I'd rather it be just the two of us, no need to get Mycroft or Greg involved."

"Very well" Sherlock agrees watching her finish making the tea for the guests.

"Good" Elle fakes a smile towards him, "well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to leave. The last thing I want to do right now is deal with Lucinda's sobbing about how sorry she is for what happened" and with that, Elle walks out the door, and gets into a waiting car, leaving a confused Sherlock to deal with the questions of where she had gone.

* * *

A/N: I know, it's way later than I said it would be... and I'm thinking of splitting this story in two, this being the intro to Elle and then having another story for her and Sherlock getting back together... if so, there will only be one more chapter to this, then I'll start part two...

Let me know what you think of that idea.

Sorry it's crap, I wrote it between 5-6am after no sleep... so I guess we should just be happy it's even English!

~Alive~

P.S. The song I thought would be playing is Blue Lips by Regina Spektor, thus the chapter title... give it a listen, it's rather nice.


	6. Chapter 6: Let Her Go

_Disclaimer: I only own the ocs and the storyline, everything else is Doyle's, Gatiss' and/or Moffat's._

_Let Her Go._

* * *

It was a warm day, as Elle drove her metallic grey BMW X5 northward towards the city. Her window open, blowing her hair into her face, she tried to think of it like any other day out. Parking around the corner from Baker Street, she turns towards the back seat, an urn sitting firmly in the middle seat, help in place by the seat belt. "Alright, sweet heart, not much longer now, I promise." she smiles sadly towards her daughters remains. Grabbing her charcoal grey overcoat and her handbag, she steps out of the car carefully, cautious not to trip on the uneven pavement in her tan sandalled heels. Looking back once more, making certain that the urn still sat safely out of the reach of anyone who might think it a good idea to attempt to steal it, she locks the SUV and walks away.

Breathing slowly, Elle knocks on the front door of 221, and waits. To say she was waiting patiently would be far too kind. Moving her weight from foot to foot, she anxiously looks around, searching for a sign of life from within the building. Eventually, she hears the hobbles of Mrs Hudson, along with a cry "I'm coming! I'm coming!" before finally, the door opens. "I'm so sorry, it's my hip" Mrs Hudson starts before noticing who is at the door. "Oh, Elle, dear!" the elder woman takes her into her arms, holding her tightly, not noticing the slight wince on Elle's face.

"Hello Mrs Hudson" Elle forces a smile as she steps away from her. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm meant to be picking Sherlock up at midday, and it's 11:59, you know how he gets"

"Oh, of course dear" Mrs Hudson's smile falters slightly, realizing why Elle was here, "come inside" she ushers Elle into the small entry area, closing the door behind her. "I'll leave you to it" she attempts to give a reassuring smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace.

Walking up the staircase, Elle idly wonders if she'll ever get to walk up them without the weight of depression on her shoulders, shaking her head she realises that after today she would have no reason to come here again. Sighing to herself, she enters the shambles that were the lounge. Books were thrown around with random objects randomly popping out. It seemed the only clear spaces were the seats where John sat reading the paper and Sherlock sat fiddling anxiously with a pen in his fingers.

Clearing her throat, she looks directly at Sherlock, "ready?" she asks, her voice more shaky than she had intended.

Abruptly brought out of his thoughts, Sherlock turns towards her, a look of confusion evident on his face. "What are you doing here?" he asks sharply.

"What do you think?" she replies exasperatedly, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"You're meant to come on Thursday" he replies, confusion causing him to frown.

"It is Thursday, Sherlock. Get dressed" she orders with a sigh. Obviously this wasn't going to be as quick as she had hoped. "Actually, when was the last time you had a shower?" she asks, as his smell wafts off him towards her.

"That would be Sunday" John supplies when Sherlock doesn't answer.

"Ok, shower. Now" she demands, grabbing him by the arm and practically throwing him in the direction of the bathroom.

"Hello, John" Elle sighs looking towards the exhausted doctor.

"Hey Elle, how are you going?" he asks carefully.

"As well as is to be expected. I presume he's causing you even more hell than usual?"

"Oh, that's one way to put it" John chuckles slightly in agreement.

Elle places her coat and bag on Sherlock's recently vacated chair, revealing a 1950's style peach off the shoulder dress. "I'll go fetch him some clothes" she sighs walking towards Sherlock's bedroom for the first time since helping him move in.

Delicately placing a pair of black trousers, underwear and socks on his bed, Elle starts to look through his shirts, finally settling on a dark navy silk shirt, she places it with the other items. Turning to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, wearing only a white fluffy towel, she moves away from the bed. "Do try to hurry, I don't want to leave her in the car any longer than necessary" she states, almost emotionlessly, not looking directly at him, before walking around him and back to the lounge where she gathers her items and waits.

Quickly, Sherlock joins her, wearing exactly what she had picked out, for once not rebelling against her choices at all. Biding John farewell, the pair leave the flat and silently enter Elle's car, both aware of the overwhelming weight that the small green urn in the backseat seemed to hold over them.

It takes only 15 minutes of silence until Sherlock breaks. "That dress, you wore it the last time we went to Cornwall" he words it carefully.

"Yes, I did. It seemed appropriate to wear it to... to send her off" she stutters slightly, a stray tear falling out of sight.

Looking over to her, Sherlock notices Elle has adopted an outwardly emotionless, cold visage, one he knew to always be fake. There was no point in time when Elle wasn't being governed internally by her emotions, but she had learnt how to control the appearance of said emotions a long time before they had met, for what reason, Sherlock had never asked.

The hours driving were spent in silence, excluding the quiet hum of the radio playing a mix of 80's music that Sherlock knew Elle to be partial towards. After four hours of awkward silence, they finally arrive at the small beach. Turning off the car, Elle takes out a large picnic basket from the boot of the car, along with a rug, motioning for Sherlock to take the remains of their daughter, encased in the small blue urn. Placing the blanket on a patch of grass, Elle bustles around, setting up a nice lunch of sandwiches, fruit, salad and tarts along with a bottle of red wine. When she is finally content with the layout, she quickly pours herself a glass of wine, not even offering Sherlock one. Lost in their memories, neither speaks, however, this silence wasn't uncomfortable, unlike the one on the way there.

Slowly becoming more inebriated, Elle's cold exterior quickly fades away. Shoulders starting to slump, head hanging lower, she takes off her shoes and lays down on the blanket, taking in everything around her. The smells, the sounds, the feel of sand under her left hand, she didn't want to miss a thing, knowing these moments were the last she would ever have with her daughter, even if she wasn't really with them anymore. Eventually, realizing neither had any interest in eating, and Sherlock refusing to have any more than one drink, knowing he would need to drive them home, they pack up the small picnic.

Walking up a hill towards a small cliff, Elle in bare feet, they stand at the edge holding the small urn. Taking Sherlock's hand in her own, Elle faces him. "I don't know what to say" she mutters quietly, tears starting to fall down her face.

"I don't think there is anything to say," Sherlock replies, looking tired, worn out. "All I can think of is to say 'goodbye'".

Elle nods, placing a small hand on the lid of the urn. When he too places a hand on the lid, easily covering her own, they open it, letting Grace's ashes fly away into the ocean with the wind. A silent 'goodbye' dying on their lips as they watch the remains of their daughter drift away. Rooted to the spot, they stand there until the darkness falls. Eventually, Sherlock ushers Elle back to the car, tears still streaming down her face. The sound of her sobs slowly soften as Sherlock drives them back to Baker Street and he notices she has fallen asleep.

Careful not to wake her, Sherlock carefully picks her up and carries her up the stair of 221b, placing her delicately on his bed and tucking her into the blankets. It was late when they returned, John having decided to take an early nights sleep to give them privacy in case they were to return. Sherlock slowly moves around the apartment. Finishing off a half empty bottle of whisky, he decides to go to bed also, for once, the idea of sleep comforting him, numbing the pain that he was trying so hard to hide.

Moving quietly, he gets into his bed, careful not to wake the woman beside him, he quickly falls asleep, hoping that tomorrow will be easier.

* * *

Waking in the early hours of the morning, Sherlock turns to see the other side of his bed empty. Not surprised, although possibly a little annoyed, he checks the entire apartment to see if Elle has left a note as she used to do when they had begun dating. Finding nothing, he falls back onto his bed with a sigh, only to hear his phone signal a text message.

An unknown number sent a solitary word: "Goodbye."

* * *

_A/N: Well folks, that's it. Sorry that the entire thing is SUPER short, however... there will be a sequel. To be honest, I don't like calling the next part a sequel, as I intend for it to be much longer than this was, so perhaps I'll call this the prologue. Anyway, originally I was going to have it all together, but then this part was longer than expected and the feel is very different between the two parts, so I decided to cut this off here and continue on in another story. The second part will be called 'The Life I Call My Own'... or at least, that's the title for now. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this depressing short story, I promise the next part will be more uplifting, however, it was important that you know where the characters are coming from before I go on. I hope you liked the introduction to Elle, especially as she will a very prominent figure in the next part._

_Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, follows and favourites! I really appreciate them. And don't think that just because this part is over that I don't want to receive any more reviews, I adore them!_

_Thanks again,_

_~Alive~_


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